


The  “It Was Just a Dream” Sequel

by stew (julie)



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Escape, Family, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, Stew's Patented Happy Endings Unlimited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1992-09-01
Updated: 1992-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23336104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: Cowley hadn’t expected to ever wake again, but he does – finding himself still confined at Repton, with Bodie’s company the only good thing he can rely on. The bad dream had been a true presentiment, though, and Cowley knows that if he wants to live then he’ll need to escape, and soon. He and Bodie still have a few good friends who can help them do that…
Relationships: Ray Doyle/Murphy, William Bodie/George Cowley
Kudos: 1





	The  “It Was Just a Dream” Sequel

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** “It Was Just a Dream” is a sequel to the fic “Look Through My Eyes” written by Jane Carnall and Nicole Craig. 
> 
> **First published:** in the zine “A Simple Game” edited by Jane Carnall in September 1992, an unusual zine in that its contents were all responses to “Look Through My Eyes”. I wasn’t the only one who wanted to fix it!

# The “It Was Just a Dream” Sequel 

♦

Cowley woke to the grey of a fading night. For a moment he was surprised, and when he remembered why he hadn’t expected to wake again he started shaking, to his annoyance, the vivid images of the dream returning in surreal sequence. 

But it hadn’t happened, his own people hadn’t tried to kill him, Bodie wasn’t sitting empty and bereft in Apple Cottage. Unless… The first part could have been true, they might have injected him with something, might have needed him unconscious for a while and knew he would fight the needle. 

After a while, Cowley stirred from the uncomfortable position in which he had habitually slept since the other place, lifted his arm, examined it for fresh wounds. None. A dream. Including poor Bodie. 

Bodie. 

The past eight days had been full of peace, contentment; the unrecognised man had been by his side all the daylight hours, gradually easing him past the traumas of the interrogation, ensuring he rested and ate and exercised in all the right proportions. At first he hadn’t spoken much, and Cowley had realised that the man himself was in bad shape. They had both needed that quiet time together, the simple touch of the man holding Cowley’s hand often their only communication. 

But the dream had now, finally, made Cowley face the truth, the reasons he wanted to live, the desolation Bodie would face if he died: the man was William Andrew Philip Bodie, the favourite of a scrupulously fair-minded boss with the highest of expectations, the incorrigible irreverent star of CI5. Cowley’s lover. The truth that had been so vital, so personal, he hadn’t dared to let his jailers even have a hint there was anything there. The truth that had turned to unbearable, unendurable regret. That had been unknowingly mocked so often. 

Cowley could at last credit his own instincts, at least where the man was concerned – he had always trusted Bodie profoundly, utterly. And there was no reason to stop now. 

But the dream was right – there was no one else he could trust, even here in England amongst his own people, his old friends and colleagues. Back in the war, someone had said Cowley’s epitaph would be _He trusted his friends._ And it had almost been only too fitting, far too many times. Perhaps Cowley had now learnt a harsh lesson. 

Cowley knew what was necessary, what was expedient. He wouldn’t have acted any differently. Even when he had first known he was on home soil, he had kept his thoughts, his sanity to himself. Kept them even from the man, from Bodie, who had taken care of him for months, who deserved better than this secrecy. There were matters between them that needed to be made plain. Today. 

Cowley turned his head slightly to look out the window – he never liked to have the curtains closed, and for once they’d left them open. From where he lay, he could see the first light of the sun, and green leaves rustling in a slight breeze. England. 

For the first time, Cowley broke the enforced posture he had learned in Lubyanka, and rolled over to rest curled up on his side; facing the door, though, he hadn’t lost all caution. And he closed his eyes and found a deep dreamless sleep at last. 

♦

Bodie had made it in time for breakfast at Repton again. It was amazing what he was capable of, he ruefully reflected, once off the vodka diet. Though, of course, the prospect of seeing Cowley gradually regaining the health he’d had before the interrogation was enough of a reason to get out of bed with the dawn. Although Bellfriar was starting to get the look in his eye that meant he thought Bodie was overdoing it again, that he would be enforcing a day’s break. And Bodie didn’t want that right now, not when every day meant progress, meant peace for Cowley. 

He let himself into Cowley’s room still deep in thought, closed the door behind him, then looked up to find the man. Often Cowley was seated by the window, awaiting the bowl of porridge, the cup of tea and the glass of juice. But today Cowley was seated in the chair by the bed, looking at the door. Awaiting Bodie. And when Cowley saw him, he smiled. 

It took all Bodie’s training, all his cool, all his distrust of the people watching through the room’s cameras, for him not to physically react. Because it was the small secret smile of old, their only admission to each other in public or at HQ, or indeed anywhere outside Cowley’s home, that they were lovers. Bodie returned Cowley’s gaze, expression schooled into pleasantry, only his eyes giving him away to this man who knew him better than anyone. _Cowley remembered him._ He’d given up hoping for that, counting only on the fact that Cowley would accept his company and no one else’s. 

It seemed hours that they had to maintain the facade, through breakfast and all the rest of the routine, but Bodie at last accompanied his boss on a slow walk along the outside paths, past the rhododendrons, to the furthest bench, the only one completely out of sight of the hospital. Bodie stood, watching unobtrusively while Cowley sat down, while he got his breath back. It took less of an effort every day. Then Bodie sat by him, a respectful distance away tempered by the slightest presumption of familiarity. And at last Bodie said, ‘You remember me.’ 

‘Yes, Bodie.’ Cowley looked across at him, and Bodie could read the truth in the ice-blue of his eyes. The sharpness had at last returned, the confidence and control, the focus. Maybe it had only ever been hidden, buried deep by necessity. 

It was all Bodie could do to stop the tears rising in his own eyes. He reached for Cowley’s nearest hand, and held it in both of his, was rewarded by the pressure of Cowley’s fingers, the brush of his palm. ‘Thank god,’ Bodie blurted out. 

‘Thank God, indeed,’ Cowley repeated with the old wryness. And, with the old priorities, he turned to business, though he left their hands curled loosely together between them. ‘If I was still in charge, I’d be wondering what to do with me. A potential source of great trouble and embarrassment.’ 

Bodie nodded slowly. ‘There’s no one we can count on. Drake, the others, they’re sorry for you; but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’ 

‘We must keep them believing that there has been no progress beyond a certain point, that I am harmless.’ 

‘You can’t live like that!’ Bodie protested. 

‘I know. You’ll have to convince Bellfriar to let us take a drive occasionally. It will take time, Bodie.’ 

‘Yeah, but how much time do we have now the interrogation’s over?’ Bodie said. His mind was racing; where they could run to, what they would need. Cowley was probably already streets ahead of him. ‘Doyle will help,’ he added absently. 

‘Good.’ 

‘He was furious with me over you. Can’t say as I blame him,’ Bodie continued in rambling apology, ‘but there wasn’t any other way. I reckoned you’d agree; but he didn’t know what was going on.’ 

‘I don’t want us trusting anyone we don’t have to.’ 

Bodie looked at him, a little surprised. ‘Of course not.’ 

‘We’d better head back in,’ Cowley said. ‘We can walk again this afternoon.’ 

Bodie almost protested, but saw the sense in it; no change in routine, no obvious opportunities for long conversations in private. He disobediently took a moment to grasp Cowley’s hand tightly and say his lover’s name. ‘George.’ 

The older man looked back at him, ice-blue eyes assessing, measuring. ‘I owe you my life, Bodie.’ 

It was said unsentimentally, given as a simple fact, but Bodie looked away uncomfortably. ‘I’ll never come close to repaying what I owe you,’ he said. 

Cowley stood, took Bodie’s chin in one hand and gently forced the man to look up at him. After a moment he leant down to bestow a kiss on Bodie’s mouth, a gesture more formal than passionate, more chaste than loving. Still, the younger man shivered. And Cowley said, ‘We are even, my friend.’ 

♦

‘What do _you_ want?’ Doyle was at his most gracious. He stood in the door of his flat, obviously determined not to invite Bodie inside. 

‘Thought we might go have a drink or two,’ Bodie suggested mildly. ‘If you’re not busy.’ And he used the old CI5 signal: _Is the flat bugged?_

Doyle shrugged, patently uninterested. ‘I don’t know,’ he elaborated, replying to both the suggestion and the silent query. 

‘That disagreement we had,’ Bodie continued, referring to when Doyle had punched him in the face, knocking him to the floor, and then kicked him in the ribs. Without pulling any of it in his fury. But it was for Cowley’s sake, and the fury was quite understandable from someone who didn’t have Bodie’s perspective on events. Hell, it was understandable even _with_ Bodie’s perspective. ‘I can explain. Seems silly to fall out over it.’ 

There was a long silence as Doyle stared at him, maybe trying to remember all the reasons why he should still be friends with this man. ‘Since when did you ever explain anything?’ he complained. But at last he reached back with one arm to grab his jacket and keys, and joined Bodie, pulling the door shut behind him. ‘Come on then. The Crown and Thistle is closest.’ 

‘Go there often?’ 

Doyle stared at him again. _What’s with the small talk?_ But when he saw Bodie’s exasperation, he answered, ‘Yeah, it’s my local.’ 

‘Then we’ll go someplace else.’ 

‘Ah.’ Doyle nodded sagely, disparagingly. ‘Cloak and dagger time, is it?’ 

Bodie didn’t deign to reply. When they were settled with a pint each in one of the dim booths up the back of the Prince of Wales, Bodie said, ‘I’m getting Cowley out of that place.’ 

‘Good,’ Doyle said distantly, facing away. 

‘But we’ll need help. Someone we can trust.’ Bodie paused. ‘Someone who doesn’t mind throwing their career away.’ 

‘Few years ago, you could have asked me for anything.’ 

‘I’m not asking you to do it for me, Ray. I’m asking for Cowley.’ 

‘Yeah, every-bloody-thing’s for Cowley, isn’t it? Always was and always will be.’ 

‘Yes,’ Bodie said calmly. 

‘Why?’ Doyle retorted, surprising himself. Over the last few months he had told himself time and again this was none of his business. Not anymore. 

Bodie stared at him. Had Doyle only just figured out that Cowley had always been first with Bodie, and Doyle only ever second? Doyle must have always assumed it to be the other way around. No wonder his old partner was shaken – he and Bodie had relied on each other totally during their years in CI5. And now Doyle would be thinking, _If it had come to a choice, whose back would he have watched?_ Maybe under the circumstances Doyle deserved the truth, and maybe then he would even understand. He had always been a damn close second, after all. 

‘Cowley and me,’ Bodie said at last; ‘we’re lovers.’ At the blank shock on Doyle’s face, he sighed and said, ‘Since three years before he was snatched. Took a while to make him see sense.’ 

‘I bet it did. Oh god,’ Doyle said flatly. He’d long suspected that Bodie was bisexual, a suspicion that had settled into comfortable accepted fact without any real proof one way or the other. But this was something else entirely. ‘And that was – You were –’ Doyle started, seemingly unsure of what he was asking. 

‘Yeah,’ Bodie said, smiling a little. ‘It was. We were. We still are, for all that.’ Briefly, he let Doyle read emotions Bodie had kept scrupulously hidden for years, then he looked away, breaking the moment. ‘There’s hardly anyone else we can count on, Ray.’ 

‘But where will you go? You couldn’t –’ 

‘Out of Britain, of course, but the less you know…’ 

‘The less I’ll be able to tell them when they rip out my fingernails.’ 

Bodie turned to look at his old partner, and broke into a grin. ‘Christ, Doyle, I thought I was the one with the foul sense of humour.’ 

‘Must have missed you – have to provide my own black jokes these days.’ 

‘It’s a sad life,’ Bodie cheerfully commiserated. 

Doyle returned his grin for a moment. ‘OK. What exactly do you want me to do?’ 

‘Are you sure? They’ll chuck you out of Intelligence, if not worse. Wouldn’t even let you go back to the Met.’ And Bodie reached across to briefly touch Doyle’s arm to indicate the significance of his next words. ‘We have to assume these people are prepared to kill Cowley to get him out of the way. What would they do to the likes of us?’ 

‘I’m sure.’ Doyle shrugged. ‘Was ready to blow my brilliant career when I went chasing after you and Cowley that time. Drake was threatening to fire me if I said another word. As for the rest…’ The silence stretched. ‘I’ll do it!’ Doyle repeated at last when Bodie still seemed unconvinced. ‘For him. And even for you, you great prat.’ 

‘All right. I’ll let you know when we’ve got our plans a little more settled. Can’t risk waiting too long. In the meantime,’ Bodie said, ‘we’d better resume our friendship. If that isn’t too much of an imposition.’ 

‘Shouldn’t be,’ Doyle said, with an edge of mock doubt which Bodie ignored. 

‘I figure if we meet for a drink each week or so, in different pubs; keep them guessing, you know…’ 

‘…sort of an extended pub crawl around Hampshire…’ 

‘…andthe surrounding counties…’ 

‘… _and_ London. Sounds fine.’ Doyle swallowed the last of his beer, and stood. ‘Must be my round. Then you can provide the promised explanation.’ 

Bodie grinned and shook his head. They both knew he had explained all he was going to for one lifetime. 

Sighing, Doyle observed, ‘Least I’ve still got your number on some things.’ 

♦

‘What on earth is so serious, Ray?’ Mandy Doyle asked. She was used to her big brother carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and hoped that this time, like so many others, he could be coaxed into levity at last with a little judicious teasing. However, her two children had barely raised a smile from their Uncle Ray when he’d come home a few minutes ago, before they’d been banished to the garden to play for a few minutes, which all indicated a heavy problem indeed. ‘Come on, spill the beans,’ Mandy encouraged. 

Doyle sat at the kitchen table opposite his sister, watching Mandy’s husband Keith pottering around, gathering together all the necessities for a makeshift afternoon tea. _What a pair,_ Doyle thought. _Neither would win any beauty pageants._ He reckoned Mandy looked far too much like himself for her own good – she had the same slim awkward build and round face, and though her hair was dark brown and wavy it was just as uncontrollable as his auburn curls. _The only thing we Doyles have going for us are the wide green eyes… And they’ve got me in enough trouble for all that._ As for Keith, he was cheerfully nondescript in appearance. He was also, however, a particularly nice and decent person, and Mandy adored him. So did Doyle, in a different sort of way, though he had often teased Mandy, ‘If I was into _nice_ , I’d have gone for Keith myself.’ 

‘Sure, Ray,’ she’d reply. ‘You’d have had a fight on your hands.’ 

‘And the better _man_ would have won.’ 

‘Huh.’ Mandy was always highly sceptical. ‘Since when were you into guys, anyway?’ 

Doyle grinned. ‘Since I met Keith, of course.’ 

At this point, if he was around, Keith would usually chip in with a plaintive, ‘Don’t I get a say in it?’ 

The answer was always a resounding, ‘No.’ – ‘A choice between two Doyles is no choice at all.’ – ‘Consider yourself lucky.’ All of which, surprisingly enough, made for a tightknit if unconventional family group. 

‘I need to ask a favour,’ Doyle said now. 

‘Name it,’ Keith said, handing Doyle a mug of coffee. 

‘I want to take you on a fishing trip.’ 

‘Now that’s really stretching the friendship, old son,’ Keith retorted. But then he grinned happily at the prospect. ‘When do we go?’ 

Mandy was laughing. ‘Who’s doing who the favour here? You could do me one and take the kids with you.’ 

Doyle shook his head, still serious. ‘The favour is that it’s dangerous. I don’t think any harm will come to you, Keith, but some people will be after us, and they’ll be pretty pissed off, especially when they catch up.’ 

‘What’s this about?’ Keith looked even more interested. He sat down next to Mandy, leaning forward on his elbows. 

‘Cowboys and Indians,’ Mandy remarked. 

‘I can’t tell you exactly, otherwise they’ll make you talk.’ 

‘Come off it, Ray.’ 

Doyle gazed across at his sister. Where he was serious, she was light-hearted, and they’d each been that way all their lives. But underneath it all, Mandy cared just as much about all the same things that Ray did. She didn’t necessarily think he was going the right way about addressing those cares, but that was another story. Doyle put down his coffee and tried to explain as much as he could. ‘We’ll be helping Bodie, and a good friend of ours. Got themselves in a spot of bother, and they need us to help them out of it.’ 

‘And where does the fishing come into it?’ Keith asked. 

‘You, me and Bodie plan a trip for the four of us, and share out the equipment between him and us. Once we’ve left, we’ll probably have about twenty-four hours of peace and quiet before they find us, and then you come back home. That’s all I can tell you.’ 

Keith looked over at his wife. ‘OK with you?’ 

‘It’s important, Mandy,’ Doyle said, voice intense. 

She sighed. ‘Of course it’s OK with me. Just take care. _All_ of you.’ 

Doyle smiled, though even now he looked weary, worried. ‘We’ll take care. I promise.’ 

♦

‘Morning,’ Bodie said cheerfully as he wandered into Bellfriar’s office. ‘Thought I might take him for a drive after breakfast.’ 

‘Morning, Bodie.’ Bellfriar sighed and let the pen he’d been writing with drop to the table. ‘One day they’re going to find out about your little trips.’ 

‘When they do,’ Bodie said, grinning cheekily, ‘you can blame it all on me.’ 

Bellfriar snorted. ‘That will do you and George Cowley a lot of good.’ He looked up at the younger man, comparing his present appearance with his memory of Bodie only two short weeks ago during Cowley’s interrogation. The bruised-looking eyes, the too pale skin, the look of desperate driven exhaustion had all vanished, and though Bodie hadn’t put the lost weight back on, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Cowley had made some improvement, too, though he hadn’t yet returned to the health he’d had before the interrogation. ‘Yes, go on. But don’t do this too often – it can’t last forever.’ 

Bodie nodded. ‘All right.’ 

‘And you’re due for a holiday, too.’ Bellfriar expected the usual protests, and instead received a look of wry amusement. ‘What’s so funny?’ 

‘Friend of mine – you met him once, Ray Doyle – wants me to go on a fishing trip with him and his brother-in-law. Some weekend coming up soon.’ 

‘Excellent! You should go.’ 

Bodie shrugged. ‘I’m thinking about it.’ The doctor knew how he hated leaving Cowley, even now that Cowley was eating properly with or without his companion, so Bodie didn’t labour the point. _Subtle does it._ ‘Truth be told, I’m still out on my feet at the end of the day. Don’t think I’m up to one of Doyle’s fishing trips. Bugger believes in getting right back to nature.’ 

Bellfriar laughed. ‘Do you the world of good.’ 

‘Maybe.’ Bodie headed for the door, and Bellfriar returned his farewell nod. ‘I’ll let you know when we’re off this morning.’ 

Bodie felt like whistling as he walked the corridors down to Cowley’s room. To have Cowley back after two-and-a-half years, to be scheming again after the last six months, to be planning a devious and dangerous escape – it was the most fun Bodie had ever had. And once they were safe overseas somewhere – for the first time ever, Bodie could contemplate having his lover all to himself, without the secrecy imposed on them by the fact that Cowley had been the Controller of CI5 and Bodie his best operative. 

Cowley shook his head at Bodie’s appearance. ‘Tone it down, three-seven,’ he advised once they were alone, walking through the hospital grounds, which were delightful at the height of an English summer. ‘We’re innocent,’ Cowley continued, ‘we’re content, and too damn exhausted to be up to mischief, remember? Not bubbling over with good spirits.’ 

But Bodie simply grinned at the telling off. The words, his tone of voice – everything indicated that Cowley was running as high as Bodie. ‘How far are we walking today?’ Bodie asked. 

It was a problem – Cowley mustn’t betray his returning strength to Bellfriar or the other hospital staff, but needed to push himself, to exercise as much as possible. The older man said, ‘Down across the lawns, through the trees.’ 

Bodie nodded. Most of that would be out of sight of the hospital. What Bodie would most like to do right now was ambush Cowley amongst those trees and be kissed to within an inch of his life. Bodie grinned at the idea – to say that Cowley would not be amused was an understatement. 

In the event, they walked sedately, talking over the details of their plan. It was simple, as all good plans are, but a lack of attention to detail had tripped up too many other people on both sides of the fence for Cowley to be less than vigilant. Especially now. 

When Bodie returned home to Apple Cottage that evening, his neighbour was in her garden, enjoying a cup of tea and the sunset. 

‘Evening, Mrs Bridges,’ Bodie called. 

‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’ She wandered closer, looking over the young man with an appreciative though maternal eye. ‘Things are looking up for you, aren’t they?’ 

Bodie smiled wryly, fully aware of the reasons for her observation. As of two mornings ago, he’d at last been able to face his mirror again without flinching. ‘Ah, but don’t tell anyone,’ he warned; ‘there’s a conspiracy against me enjoying myself.’ 

‘Get away with you,’ Mrs Bridges laughed. 

‘Honest!’ Bodie protested. ‘Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean…’ 

‘Doesn’t mean a blessed thing.’ 

‘If only that were true,’ he said, serious again, letting himself in his front door. ‘If only that were true.’ 

♦

Murphy sat by Doyle’s side in the pub, appreciating a much-needed pint of bitter, and patient with his companion’s silence. Doyle had never been one for idle social chatter – to most people’s surprise, it was Bodie who was the easy one to get along with out of that pair. Murphy had tried to get to know Doyle when he’d first joined CI5, but had soon given up, content not to make the effort when the rewards weren’t even obvious. Bodie had been a different matter entirely. 

But right now, Doyle had Murphy’s curiosity simmering. He and Doyle had both joined MI5 back when CI5 had been disbanded following Cowley’s death, but had barely spoken to each other since except for the handful of times a case had thrown them together. And now, out of the blue, an invitation to join Doyle for a drink after work in an obscure pub in the suburbs, and then this silence. It didn’t make much sense. 

‘If you don’t mind me asking, what are we doing here, Ray?’ Murphy asked at last. 

‘We’re meeting someone.’ 

‘Who?’ 

‘Who do you think?’ 

Murphy gazed at the man. There was only one answer to that. ‘And what has Bodie been up to the last few years?’ he asked lightly. 

Doyle shot him a grin. ‘That’s classified.’ 

‘Well, this should be interesting.’ 

‘Mate, you have no idea.’ 

But Murphy was soon put out of his suspense. Bodie arrived, and the social niceties were barely out of the way when he said to Murphy, ‘We need your help.’ 

‘I really _was_ glad to see you for a minute there, Bodie.’ Murphy looked from one to the other. ‘What’s all this about?’ 

‘That’s classified,’ Doyle informed him. 

‘It’s just between us,’ Bodie went on. ‘The old mob. Top secret.’ 

‘But what’s the result you’re after?’ 

Bodie grinned. ‘Saving my bacon. Getting me out of the country.’ 

‘Why?’ Murphy asked suspiciously. ‘What have you done?’ 

‘Nothing yet.’ 

Doyle was watching their old colleague. ‘If you’re in, we might tell you more. But not the whole thing – Bodie won’t even tell _me_ the details.’ 

Murphy had to return Doyle’s grin – the man was looking downright mischievous. The expression suited him. ‘Of course I’m in, you idiots. For old times’ sake. Depending on how much shit you’re landing me in.’ 

‘Shouldn’t end up in any – Doyle can cop all that.’ 

‘Thanks, sunshine,’ Doyle muttered, though he had willingly accepted his allotted role in Bodie’s schemes. 

‘You’re not going with him, Ray?’ 

‘No.’ Doyle looked over to Bodie. ‘Tell him. Just tell him who. You know you can trust him.’ 

Meeting Bodie’s suddenly fierce gaze, Murphy said evenly, ‘There’s precious few people I owe. You’re two of them. Because of CI5.’ 

‘It’s Cowley. I’m getting him out of the country. They’re going to kill him.’ 

‘Jesus…’ Murphy ducked his head for a moment. ‘So he’s _alive?_ What the hell happened to him?’ 

Doyle started, ‘That’s –’ 

‘– classified, yeah,’ Murphy finished flatly. ‘I’m in – you know I’m in.’ He looked up at Bodie. ‘This had better work like clockwork, sunshine, if it’s his life.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Bodie grimaced. Then he took pity on him. ‘Can’t tell you what happened, Murph mate. Maybe Doyle can fill you in afterwards, over a pint.’ 

‘All right,’ Murphy allowed. Imagine Doyle sitting there opposite him with a beer and a story to tell. Interesting. ‘And we’re the only ones who know?’ 

‘Other than your boss Drake and those other bastards running the show – they, believe it or not, old son, are the enemy. Not a word of this to them, OK? And Doyle isn’t going to talk me into telling anyone else.’ 

Doyle shook his head. ‘Except, maybe once you’re away, there’s one other person deserves the whole story.’ He met Bodie’s glare. ‘Elizabeth Walsh. You should have been at that bloody farce of a funeral, Bodie. She kept telling me he wasn’t dead, and I wouldn’t listen.’ 

Bodie seemed to relent. ‘Yeah, she’s all right.’ After a moment, he observed, ‘His fan club’s pretty small these days, isn’t it?’ CI5 wasn’t that long ago, after all. Those days, when anyone who knew Cowley respected him – even the ones who hated him. The days when he could command fierce unswerving loyalty simply because of what he was in essence, never mind the title or the power CI5 held. But it was the loyal remnants of CI5 that would save him now, save Cowley from their own boss, risk their careers if not more. Bodie smiled at his companions. ‘Must be my round,’ he declared. And he bought them each a double Scotch. 

♦

‘You never said we had to leave at four in the morning, Ray,’ Keith was moaning. He tipped himself into the passenger seat of Doyle’s car and managed to coordinate himself long enough to belt himself in. 

‘We don’t want to be seen, remember?’ Doyle said, adrenalin making him snap. 

‘Why can’t we not be seen at a civilised hour, like midday, that’s what I want to know.’ 

Mandy arrived, thermos in hand. ‘I don’t know why you bothered making this,’ she said to her husband, ‘if you were going to leave it on the kitchen table.’ 

‘Thanks, love. Where would I be without you?’ He sighed and answered his own question. ‘Back in bed, that’s where.’ 

‘But it wouldn’t be half as much fun on your own.’ 

Keith chuckled. ‘You’re right.’ 

‘Listen, Mandy,’ Doyle said. ‘We’re heading for Lincolnshire, but I’m not telling you more than that. MI5 will be here asking, and they can figure it out. If they give you any trouble, or you need anything, I’ve left an envelope in the old photo album – there’s contact numbers and addresses for a guy Bodie and me used to work with – Murphy. He works in MI5, but he’s OK, he’s been part of all this. I don’t think they’ll guess that, so he should be all right.’ Doyle shrugged helplessly. ‘That’s the best I can do.’ 

‘That’s fine, Ray.’ She added, ‘I thought I’d send the kids to stay with Keith’s mum for a couple of days, OK?’ 

‘That might be best, yeah.’ 

Mandy hugged her brother, then leant into the car to kiss Keith. ‘Take care, both of you.’ 

‘Do our best,’ Doyle promised before he drove off. _Famous last words,_ he thought. 

♦

Keith woke from a doze to find they were already well out of London. Yawning and stretching, he cast a glance at his companion. Doyle was looking grimly determined, an expression Keith had never seen before. _This is what he looks like on the job._ He decided he was glad they were on the same side. Although it had been made fairly clear that their side wasn’t exactly in tune with law and order right now. But what had Keith ever expected when it came to Bodie? The ex-soldier and Doyle had been one of the biggest mismatches Keith had ever come across – and so close to each other despite, or because of, that. Doyle hadn’t been the same since they’d lost touch. 

‘Hey,’ Keith said once his brain was in gear. ‘I thought we’d have collected Bodie by now.’ 

Doyle turned to him for a moment, still in some serious reverie. Then he looked back at the road. ‘Bodie’s not coming with us.’ 

‘But you said –’ 

‘I know. I lied.’ Doyle seemed to sigh. ‘Bodie’s helping someone escape. When they go missing, the first thing the authorities will think of is this fishing trip – Bodie and I put it about that’s what we were planning to do today along with you, and they’ll assume it’s a cover for the getaway. Drake will go ask Mandy what she knows, and she’ll send them running after us in Lincolnshire. We’re going on through to Yorkshire, though. Meanwhile, Bodie will be long gone.’ 

Keith just stared at his brother-in-law for a moment. ‘They’ll be able to follow Bodie’s trail. Why bother with us?’ 

‘There won’t be any trails – we’ve both got all the food and petrol and supplies we need to get where we’re going and stay there.’ 

‘Ah.’ Keith ran his hands nervously along his thighs. ‘Is that all? No more surprises?’ 

‘That’s it.’ 

‘Mandy and the kids –’ 

‘They’ll be all right. It’ll be obvious none of you know what’s going on.’ 

After another pause, Keith said, ‘OK.’ 

Doyle glanced at him. ‘Sure?’ 

Keith shrugged. ‘Went into it with our eyes open, didn’t we? And it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?’ 

‘Yeah,’ Doyle agreed softly. ‘It’s what we have to do.’ 

Doyle fell back into his thoughts, this time remembering Bodie. They had met a couple of days ago, at yet another pub, easy and comfortable in their renewed friendship, their old partnership. Until Doyle had realised that this was no doubt the last time he’d ever be with the man. Outside of family, Bodie had been the only person in his life who had bothered getting close to Doyle and staying there for any length of time. All that, when Doyle hadn’t even been Bodie’s first priority. 

But Doyle found himself wondering now what could have been between them if only Bodie hadn’t been so devoted to Cowley – not that that would have been the Bodie they all knew and loved. 

At closing time, in embarrassed farewell, Doyle had thought of Cowley from their days in CI5, and then his own reactions when he’d first seen Cowley at Repton. It had been difficult to see the man so reduced, and Doyle knew he’d handled it badly. After downing the last of his beer, he’d said, ‘Look, tell him…’ But hadn’t found the words. 

‘Yeah, I’ll tell him,’ Bodie had replied. ‘He probably already knows.’ 

Cowley was omniscient in Bodie’s eyes, which Doyle thought was pretty funny, but also fairly close to the truth. 

But, if not for Cowley, would Bodie have ever taken his and Doyle’s relationship further, made them lovers? Doyle decided he liked to think so. Bodie surely knew him well enough to realise Doyle wasn’t irredeemably straight. There was something more than curiosity about other men within Doyle, something that would simply take the right man to free, despite that it had been dormant within him for years. The problem being that the only right man Doyle had ever known was leaving Britain, and had always loved someone else anyhow. 

The loneliness was familiar to Ray Doyle, and the bitterness reminded him of Ann Holly. He sighed and tried to pay more attention to the road. 

♦

Bodie drove carefully for a mile, as slowly as he always did on these trips, while Cowley kept surreptitious watch. MI5 hadn’t seemed to twig to their excursions yet but, as Bellfriar had warned, it was only a matter of time. ‘Anything?’ Bodie asked. 

‘No.’ Their luck had held. This far. 

To be certain, Bodie pulled the car over just around a concealing corner, hopped out and checked the road behind them for a minute. Then he got back in, and headed along back roads as fast as he could without taking too great a risk of drawing attention. The garage with the van in it was just on twenty-five minutes away – Bodie made it in record time. 

‘Bellfriar will be expecting us back by now,’ Cowley said, breaking the tense silence. He got out of the car, and climbed into the van without Bodie’s help. ‘All right, three-seven – don’t fuss.’ 

Caught watching Cowley’s progress and in reach if needed, Bodie just smiled, unapologetic. ‘I still reckon Bellfriar will give us five or ten minutes before sending the balloon up,’ Bodie asserted as he clambered up into the van’s driving seat. 

‘No, not when we’ve always returned on time before now.’ 

Bodie grinned over at the other man. ‘But he’s a doctor, not a suspicious old bastard like you.’ 

Cowley just shook his head at what he viewed as naivety. But he supposed that was a surprising and refreshing trait of Bodie’s that had attracted him from the first. No doubt Doyle had liked it, too, maybe even for similar reasons.

‘Not that five or ten minutes makes much of a difference anyway.’ Dropping the topic, Bodie backed the van out, then closed and securely locked the garage. And then they were away, using the main roads as soon as they could in the interests of speed. 

‘Scotland, here we come,’ Bodie declared cheerfully in a mangled Scots accent. Then he shot a look at Cowley and added, ‘Dad.’ 

Cowley glared. ‘Don’t you –’ 

‘Just rehearsing for my cover. Pops.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘If you really think it won’t work, I could say you’re my grandfather. Gramps.’ 

‘That’s enough, three-seven.’ Once Bodie was pretending to be a little more subdued, Cowley observed, ‘That accent is atrocious.’ 

‘Well, you can do an English one, then.’ Bodie chuckled at the reaction to this sacrilegious idea. ‘Look, we have to pose as relatives of some sort, and the closer the better. We’re too odd a couple for anything else to wash.’ 

The rule in undercover work was to be as bland as possible. It had always tickled Bodie pink to see Doyle trying to blend into the background – instead, they had often given up and counted on his exoticism distracting rather than going unnoticed. As for Bodie and Cowley – the differences in age and appearance and backgrounds were too marked. If anyone they happened to pass was asked if they’d seen a dark-haired blue-eyed man in his early thirties, together with a sixty-year-old Scot with thinning sandy hair, chances were they’d remember. Unless Bodie and Cowley could divert attention with some innocent picture of a family outing. 

‘I suppose,’ Cowley said, ‘I could say we sent you to an English boarding school to instil some much needed discipline.’ 

‘In that case, I’d hate you. And it’s obvious I don’t.’ 

‘Wouldn’t do that to a son of mine, anyway. Even if it _was_ you.’ 

Bodie laughed. ‘Have to stick to the original plan, then. You’d better help me with the accent while we’re driving.’ 

And they held a long frustrating but hilarious conversation all morning, Cowley correcting Bodie at every turn. 

♦

‘It’s the most beautiful place on earth,’ Cowley said quietly to himself. 

Bodie looked over at him, as drawn by Cowley as the Scot was by the country before them. They had left Glasgow behind two hours ago, and had driven deep into the north-west coast of Scotland, at last reaching the appropriately named Loch Awe as the sun was setting. The country was rugged, dramatic in its simplicity – crags and pieces of endlessly pale blue sky, the sun reflecting silver from the water, every now and then low clouds breaking into a light refreshing rain, never quite obscuring the patches of sun. 

‘You’re going to get homesick, aren’t you,’ Bodie commented. 

After a moment, Cowley looked across at him. ‘Aye, lad. But there’s no help for it.’ 

And Bodie thought of all they were losing for the first time. Perhaps it had something to do with the eight-hour drive as well, but he felt deflated. The fact that their relationship would be the only familiar thing left to them loomed large for Bodie then. Not so long ago, he’d been happy anticipating having his lover all to himself. Now, he wasn’t so sure it was a wise idea. 

‘We’ll find a campsite back up the Allt Beochlich.’ 

‘The what?’ Bodie asked. 

‘The river, lad,’ Cowley said with mock severity. 

‘All right,’ Bodie replied absently. He started the van up again, turned it around, and headed back along the road a little way to where a dirt track appeared to lead in the right direction. ‘Here, sir?’ 

They soon found the obvious campsite – a small dell had been formed beside the river, protected by a six-foot rise of steep ground upstream, and by stunted trees and undergrowth downstream. 

When Bodie turned the van’s engine off, all he could hear was the flow of the river over the rapids above the loch, the wind rustling everything, a few bird calls. It was perhaps the most peaceful place he’d found in years, but he couldn’t relax. He told himself the sour residue of too much adrenalin was a direct result of their escape, of the fact they weren’t even halfway to safety. 

Silent, he got to work setting up camp during the lingering dusk, insisting on Cowley sitting out of the way on a fold-up canvas chair. Bodie had appropriated Keith and Mandy’s family-sized tent, which he pitched close by the rise of ground. Maybe under any other circumstances he couldn’t have dealt with the damn tent alone, but right now he was too determined to consider defeat. 

Then there was all the fuss of bringing the van around under the shelter of the trees, and setting a few booby traps to warn him in advance of anyone taking an interest. And making up a bed for Cowley. And sorting a cold dinner out of the mass of provisions he’d brought. 

Cowley retired to the tent soon after full dark, so Bodie nominated himself on first watch. But he found himself wishing for trouble – something, anything as a distraction. And thinking up a dozen good excuses to sleep in the van. 

♦

‘Bodie? Come in here.’ 

The younger man grimaced in the tent’s direction. _OK, I wasn’t fooling anyone. Sooner or later it was going to come to this._ He took a long look around the dell and surroundings, saw nothing suspicious; there had been a false alarm when a wandering rabbit had set off one of Bodie’s booby traps, but other than that everything had been peaceful. Would have been lovely if they’d really been on holiday. Bodie glanced up at the moon and judged the hour to be very late. It seemed that there was nothing awake in the whole world except for him and Cowley and the people who were chasing them. 

‘Bodie.’ 

‘Yes, sir.’ He’d taken refuge in formalities and mundane detail since they’d reached their campsite, unwilling to deal with the Scot on a personal basis. _Scared to face your lover?_ something within him taunted. No, scared wasn’t the right word, not when it came to something he’d been hankering after, needing, having wet dreams about like a teenager, for thirty of the longest months of his life. Bodie glared round at the world. Who was he kidding? Scared was exactly the right bloody word. He strode over and ducked into the tent, waited by the flaps as if for further orders. 

‘I think we can be a little less vigilant for a while. A short while.’ And they both knew what Cowley was suggesting. 

‘Yes, sir!’ Bodie cried out. He angrily pulled at his jacket, threw it down, wrenched off his boots. ‘Anything you say, sir!’ he muttered sarcastically. _If our safety doesn’t concern you, sir!_

Cowley’s voice remained mild. ‘We’re safe enough for the time being. Once they find Doyle, that’s another matter.’ 

And they both knew that there might not be another chance. _Don’t let them take me alive again,_ Cowley had said when they’d first discussed their plans. Bodie had glanced at him and looked away, unsurprised at this though he hadn’t faced the reality of it. _They won’t take either of us,_ he had said shortly. And they’d both been quiet for the few minutes left to them before they walked back through the rhododendrons to the hospital. 

‘Yes, sir,’ Bodie said now, some part of him still furious for no reason that he wanted to examine. 

Into the flurry of unhappy activity, Cowley said quietly, ‘Andrew.’ 

Bodie paused, and the anger slowly loosened its grip on him. ‘Yes?’ he whispered after a while. 

‘Come and lie by me.’ 

‘Yes.’ Whispered again. Bodie crawled over, still mostly dressed, and lay on his back beside Cowley. When the older man leant over to kiss him, Bodie returned his attentions hungrily. With a groan, he rolled up onto his side to press his aching cock against his lover’s body, seeking release. He murmured, ‘I’m sorry.’ His hands pulling Cowley to him were uncoordinated in their urgency. 

Cowley broke away, leaned up on one elbow, began helping Bodie with the rest of his clothes. ‘You missed me that much?’ Cowley said, amused. 

‘You know I did,’ Bodie said, his exasperated tone pleading, _Don’t tease!_

‘And all the others didn’t help take your mind off me?’ Cowley continued, chiding. He didn’t expect Bodie to lie to him about this. 

‘There weren’t any others,’ Bodie said hoarsely. When Cowley halted in surprise, Bodie impatiently drew the last of his clothes off and threw them aside. 

‘Are you trying to tell me,’ Cowley said slowly, ‘that in two-and-a-half years, you never slept with anyone else?’ 

‘You expected me not to,’ Bodie said simply. 

‘But you thought I was dead!’ 

‘No, I didn’t.’ 

Cowley gazed down at the younger man. The expression on Bodie’s face was quiet, intense, determined, loyal. No one had ever done a hundredth as much for him as Bodie had over the past nine years. No one had ever looked at Cowley with a thousandth that much fierce love. Cowley leant in to kiss him again, as much in awe as he had ever been. 

It wasn’t wise to squander energy on this luxury, but Cowley nevertheless wanted the loving to last. Perhaps, under the circumstances, it was doomed not to. They found a rhythm between them, lying side by side and thrusting against each other. What seemed like only moments later, Bodie let out a groan and gave in to orgasm. Cowley chuckled breathlessly and followed him. 

‘Sorry,’ Bodie muttered after a contented while. ‘Short and sweet tonight.’ 

‘It’s all right.’ They lay tangled up together. At last Cowley said bluntly, ‘I want you to fuck me, Bodie.’ 

‘What!’ Bodie choked on something that might have been a laugh born of shock. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’ 

Cowley sounded patient. ‘Humour me.’ 

‘ _Why?_ And why _now,_ for god’s sake?’ 

‘It matters to me, Bodie.’ 

_Silence._ That wasn’t enough, somehow – or maybe the whole idea was far far too much. ‘I can’t,’ Bodie at last said. 

‘I know you used to want to.’ 

‘Do you?’ Bodie asked faintly, having thought he’d managed to keep that impossible fantasy a secret. 

‘Do you think I’m stupid? Or unobservant?’ 

Bodie laughed at the gently ironic questions. ‘They’re things I’ve never accused you of being.’ He looked up at Cowley. ‘Don’t ask me to do that now. Maybe later. When we get through this, when we have a bed and all.’ 

Impossible to tell through the dry humour whether Cowley was serious when he commented, ‘That’s very civilised of you.’ 

‘Don’t want to hurt you,’ Bodie said, the words ending lamely as he finally remembered some of the atrocities baldly stated in Cowley’s medical files. ‘Have you ever done that before?’ he asked, unintentionally whispering. ‘I mean, other than –’ 

‘Other than being gang-raped in prison?’ Cowley said, as matter-of-factly as the files. ‘No, I haven’t done that. In fact, I’d never fucked a man until you, either.’ 

If the surprise of that was meant to deflect Bodie, it didn’t work. He carefully said, ‘If you really want me to, after _that_ –’ 

_‘That,’_ Cowley said with a touch of impatience, ‘has no relevance to this. _That_ is something I’d rather forget for now. I would have thought you’d be a little more enthusiastic about _this,_ however.’ 

Bodie smiled wryly up at his lover. He’d never given any credence to his fantasies about Cowley asking this of him – and he’d certainly never imagined him this blunt about the topic, let alone imagined Cowley ever wanting or needing it enough to be so insistent. ‘Yeah, OK,’ Bodie finally agreed. ‘When we get through this, when we get somewhere civilised and have some time on our hands.’ 

‘And if we don’t get through this?’ Cowley asked. 

‘Gives me a bloody good reason to make sure we do, doesn’t it?’ And Bodie gave him that broad cheeky grin of old. Cowley kissed him again. And discovered new and necessary reserves of energy. 

♦

Doyle watched Keith bait the hook and expertly cast his line into the river. ‘You’ve done this before,’ he accused. 

Keith chuckled. ‘Just a few times.’ He caught Doyle looking at his watch for the umpteenth time. ‘We can expect company soon, I take it.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Bodie and Doyle had estimated it might be twenty-four hours before Drake and his cronies caught up with Doyle and Keith – it had been just over twenty-three hours now since Cowley and Bodie were due back at Repton. 

‘I know you want to keep me ignorant, but can you explain one thing? Why did you say the first forty-eight hours were the most vital?’ 

‘All sorts of reasons. If they follow _our_ trail, such as it is, then Bodie’s trail will be well and truly cold by the time they get here and realise he’s not with us. And they only have the resources to carry on a full scale search for a couple of days – like, all the ports and airports will drop off stand-by after forty-eight hours, though they’ll still have “wanted” posters up. And they’ll be hesitant to make it known that they’re after Bodie’s companion, because officially he’s meant to be dead. Basically, if they don’t find Bodie within the first few hours, the odds start getting pretty steep against ever finding him. The possibilities of where he’s gone get too broad. And there are always too many other priorities to divert you.’ 

Keith nodded. This all made a modicum of sense, at least compared to some of the situations Doyle had explained to him and Mandy, either as anecdotes or in an attempt to get something off his chest. 

‘You hear that?’ Doyle murmured after a silence broken only by, to Keith’s ears, the rush of water and the wind in the trees. ‘They’re here, closing in all around us.’ 

‘You’re sure?’ 

‘Yeah – bloody incompetents. None of this lot would have made CI5.’ Doyle looked across at his sister’s husband, his niece and nephew’s father, and suddenly wondered why he’d dragged the man into this. If anything happened… ‘Remember: take it easy. No heroics. And nothing to startle them.’ 

‘It’s OK, Ray.’ Keith watched his hands on the fishing rod, willing them not to tremble. 

Then there were men walking purposefully out of the trees and undergrowth on all sides, even a couple across the river, all with guns tracking the two of them. 

Doyle slowly stood, hands raised with his free hand palm out – and Keith belatedly followed suit. ‘Hello, sir,’ said Doyle.

‘All right,’ Drake said, obviously furious, ‘where the hell are they?’ 

‘Who, sir?’ 

Drake stalked closer. ‘I’m not in the mood for more of your games, Doyle. You know exactly who I mean.’ 

Taking a deep breath, Doyle found the courage to say, ‘No, sir.’ 

Lowering his gun, Drake wandered over to Keith. Then, before Keith knew what was happening, Drake had Keith’s right arm wrenched up behind his back and his gun lodged under Keith’s jaw. The civilian froze in panic, gaze lingering on his fishing rod as it dragged along the surface before submersing in the river’s current. 

‘Stop!’ Doyle had to control all his instincts not to wade in mob-handed, but the last thing he wanted right now was a fight. Cowley’s training held. ‘Leave him be – he doesn’t know anything. We just used him as cover.’ 

_‘You_ tell us, then, if he can’t.’ 

‘I don’t know much more than Keith,’ Doyle pleaded angrily. ‘You think either of _them_ are stupid enough to tell anyone their plans? Keith and I are a diversion, a false trail.’ 

Drake stared at him for long moments, then jammed the gun up harder, forcing Keith’s head back. ‘Are they close by?’ 

‘No, goddamn you! I have no idea where, but they wouldn’t be around here, knowing you lot would drop by.’ 

After a moment, Drake seemed to wearily acknowledge the logic of this, or at least that he would have to accept it for now. He pushed Keith towards one of the MI5 operatives. ‘Take him home and leave him there. We’ll take Doyle back to HQ.’ He cast a humourless glance at Doyle, knowing he’d heard this threat before: ‘I believe he can help us with our enquiries.’ 

♦

Only half of Mandy’s worries had vanished when Keith had been brought home late the previous night. She and Keith had gone to sleep expecting to find Ray also returned by the time they woke the next morning. But his bed was empty and the house was ominously quiet. 

‘It shouldn’t take them this long to read him the Riot Act,’ Keith said, shaking his head. 

When Doyle hadn’t come home by lunchtime, Mandy decided to do something about it. She didn’t want to call Murphy and implicate him in all this, but she knew from the information Doyle had left where MI5 HQ was. 

Which is why she was now wandering along this particular street in Whitehall, backpack and camera and map proclaiming her to be a tourist, surreptitiously eyeing the right building. _I’m harmless, I’m harmless, you don’t even see me._ When a man and a woman were let in through the security doors, Mandy pushed in after them, to everyone’s surprise. She was halfway across the lobby before the guard confronted her. 

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ 

‘I was lost,’ she said, waving the map and putting on a startled tourist face, all the time backing over to a cluster of chairs. 

‘Well, go get lost some other place.’ 

‘If you could just tell me where Giles Street is…’ Mandy, having reached the chairs, sat down abruptly as if her legs had given way in fear. The scene had already attracted a few onlookers. 

‘There isn’t any bloody Giles Street around here. Look, lady –’ 

Taking advantage of the guard’s exasperated, silent appeal to the others, Mandy locked one bracelet of Doyle’s handcuffs around the arms of two of the chairs. The other was already around her wrist. 

‘What the fuck are you doing now?’ the guard cried out. 

Mandy dropped the fearful act, and announced, ‘I’m here to get my brother. Ray Doyle. I’m staying right here until you let him go.’ 

♦

Bodie was happy enough at the silence between himself and Cowley. It had been a long slow couple of days. Since the sex they’d shared that first night – the sex that had been vital, urgent, necessary – the pair had settled into a relationship business-like and innocuous. There was no question of them letting down their guard now even for a moment to concentrate on each other. 

Wondering for the hundredth time what had him so nervous about their future together, Bodie came close to it at last. Their relationship had always been such a tiny, though special, part of their lives. The necessities and loyalties of CI5, then the difficulties of Repton, had defined what little they could mean to each other. Yet now, when they would soon have nothing and no one but each other, twenty-four hours a day, there were so many possibilities it was frightening. And maybe Cowley didn’t even – 

Bodie’s thoughts were interrupted by the snap of some twigs he’d placed. ‘We’re about to have company,’ he murmured. 

Cowley stirred. ‘Remember, I’ll do the talking,’ he said. ‘If Drake decides to go public, it will be _your_ face on the news.’ 

Bodie tried on an expression that was as far from the dour grimness of a mug shot as he could get. ‘How’s this?’ 

‘You want them to think you’re innocent, lad, not congenitally dim-witted.’ 

‘Well, you know who I inherited my wits from, Pops.’ The shared humour was a relief. 

Cowley only had time for a forbidding glower before two young women appeared from upstream. ‘Hello!’ 

‘Good afternoon,’ Cowley replied, getting up from the chair in which he’d been relaxing. 

‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’ 

Cowley gave them a genuine smile. ‘Perfect.’ 

Bodie hid a wry smirk as he prepared his fishing line. Cowley had bucket-loads of charm when he chose to use it, which would have floored half of CI5 because he’d never chosen to use it when dealing with his employees. _Pity he never used it on me either,_ the young man reflected. Bodie stood and cast his line downstream. 

‘My son and I thought we’d spend a long weekend fishing,’ Cowley was going on, covering all the right trivial social patter. Bodie nodded politely in greeting which, after all, needn’t be done with an accent. 

‘We’re staying back at Cladich, but drove out here for a walk.’ The girls prattled on until it became obvious that Bodie wasn’t interested in either of them, then carried on their way. 

‘Bad timing, doing this in summer. Except it gives us a lot of tourists to blend in with,’ Bodie observed. Then he asked, ‘Do you think I should flirt with them next time?’ 

‘You do, lad, and I’ll leave you behind here in Britain.’ 

Bodie grinned at the man, his lover, pleased at the jealousy implicit in the sharp retort. Maybe they meant enough to each other to have a chance together after all. 

♦

‘I’m waiting for my brother,’ Mandy repeated for the twentieth time, ‘however long it takes.’ She ignored the latest bunch of curious faces peering out at her from the corridors leading into the building. 

‘You _can’t._ You’re unauthorised, you’re trespassing.’ 

‘Throw me out in the street, then,’ Mandy challenged. ‘Someone cuffed to a couple of chairs outside your office is going to create just the publicity I want. And I won’t hesitate to tell them the whole story, about you holding Ray against his will, and how you dealt with me, a defenceless civilian.’ 

‘Defenceless? Lady,’ the guard growled in despair, ‘you are going to lose my job for me.’ 

‘Well, you’d be better off working for someone else, I’m sure.’ 

‘Now, that’s the truth,’ came another voice, amused. 

Mandy looked up to see a tall, good-looking man with two steaming polystyrene cups in his hands. The mother in her wanted to get his hair cut for him, so that she could better see his eyes. But he had too lovely a smile for Mandy to be bothering over his hair for long. 

‘Go on, I’ll try to get rid of her for you,’ the man said to the guard. 

‘Yes, sir.’ And the guard dejectedly returned to his desk on the far side of the foyer. 

‘I’m Patrick Murphy,’ the good-looking one said, sitting next to Mandy. ‘I brought you some tea.’ 

‘Mandy Doyle. Ray said the tea here wasn’t safe to be in the same room with, let alone drink.’ 

‘True. But I hoped it’s the thought that counts.’ 

‘I brought a thermos – have some of mine.’ 

‘Too kind.’ 

Mandy produced a cup and thermos from her backpack. When she saw Murphy eyeing all her supplies, she explained, ‘They’re not going to starve me out.’ 

Murphy nodded, smiling. ‘You know, you have these guys in a fix. Cowley would have come up with an inventive solution if you’d done this at CI5 HQ, but this lot have no imagination. Actually, it’s the funniest thing that’s happened all year, no offence intended.’ 

‘None taken.’ 

‘They’ll probably move the offices after this little fiasco. _Again._ You know what a nuisance that is?’ 

‘Don’t try talking me out of this, Murphy.’ And she whispered, ‘Ray said I could count on you.’ 

‘You can,’ he whispered back conspiratorially. ‘Just thought I’d come give you some moral support. Didn’t tell _them_ that, mind you.’ 

‘Do you know how he is?’ 

Murphy shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen him. They’ve had him down the Interrogation Rooms all night – no, they’re not torture chambers, love. They won’t hurt him. I know how it’s done, just relentless questions and a lot of shouting, and they won’t let up until he’s convinced them he can’t help.’ 

Mandy settled back, pale and even more determined. Murphy watched her, wondering if stubborn loyalty was a family trait. That, and the courage of their conviction in ideals that too few people bothered with these days. Apart from faces that shouldn’t have been beautiful and bodies too lithe for Murphy’s peace of mind. _Heredity can be a wonderful thing._ He waited with Mandy for as long as he could, but was soon called away by the disgruntled Powers That Be. 

It was over an hour later when Mandy looked up and saw Ray being escorted out into the foyer. He looked exhausted and half-broken, but livid with fury. 

‘It took you this long to work out he didn’t know anything?’ Mandy cried out angrily. She fished the key from her bra and unlocked the cuffs from the chairs. Then she walked straight up to Ray, ignoring the men either side of him, and locked the loose bracelet round his wrist. 

‘There’s no need for that, Mandy,’ Doyle said, with a reluctant trace of humour. ‘They’re letting me out of here, on the condition that I take you, too.’ 

Mandy lifted her chin, defiant. ‘About time.’ 

‘I should have known you’d show up. At first I thought it was just another tactic.’ He explained when she looked confused, ‘You know – we’ve got your sister. Tell us or the kids miss out on their mother tonight.’ 

‘You bastards!’ And she would have struck the nearest man in the face if Doyle hadn’t grabbed her free hand. 

‘No use taking it out on him, Mandy. The threats went both ways – you did good.’ 

The pair collected Mandy’s gear and walked over to the guard’s desk, where Doyle handed in his security pass. ‘Good riddance,’ the guard muttered under his breath. 

‘Same to you with knobs on,’ Mandy retorted with a return of some of her usual cheerfulness. And then Ray and Mandy were outside in the sunshine. 

‘I resigned,’ Doyle said, ‘before they had the time to sack me. Knew it would come to that.’ When he saw Mandy’s concern, he said bitterly, ‘They would have killed both of them! Cowley because he was inconvenient, and Bodie because when he found out what had happened to Cowley, all hell would have broken loose. Bastards!’ 

‘It was Mr Cowley?’ Mandy exclaimed. She clutched at Ray’s hands. ‘They’re both safely away?’ 

‘As far as I can tell.’ Doyle sighed. ‘But I don’t suppose it’s over yet.’ 

♦

‘Looks clear, sir.’ 

Cowley allowed himself a small self-deprecating smile – he hadn’t heard Bodie come up beside him, despite listening for anything and everything unusual. The younger man had retained all his skills. ‘Good,’ Cowley said. 

It was the middle of their second night in Scotland. High scudding clouds created a crazy ever-changing landscape of dark and light, the restless wind maddening all in its path. A perfect night to visit one of Cowley’s old colleagues. Ironically, the last time Cowley had seen Major Howard had been when another colleague, Quinn, had also escaped from Repton. 

It made him uneasy, involving yet another person in their plans – but they had little choice and, if he could trust anyone other than Bodie, surely it would be Howard. He and Cowley were the last of four agents who had worked together for years, in the most trying of circumstances. The bonds that had been forged then had seen them through terrors and trials the young man now at his side wouldn’t be able to guess at. If, after all their shared history, Howard wouldn’t help them, Cowley gambled that he at least wouldn’t betray them. _He trusted his friends._ Well, Bodie had trusted Ray Doyle and Patrick Murphy for much the same reasons as Cowley felt he could now take a risk on Howard – and that hadn’t ended in disaster. It was too easy to fall back into bad habits. 

‘Let’s go,’ Cowley murmured after a few minutes’ wait for reactions from any watcher Bodie might have alerted. There was no telling who MI5 would count as a likely contact, though Cowley thought it a fair chance this one would be overlooked as being too obscure. Cowley walked through the small garden, and climbed the steps to the front door. Bodie covered him from a few paces back, waited at the foot of the steps, eyes constantly roving over their surroundings. 

Before Cowley could knock at the door, a voice sounded from around the far corner of the house. ‘Identify yourselves!’ It was not a voice to be trifled with. 

‘It’s me, Howard,’ Cowley said. ‘No need to be so wary.’ 

There was a pause. ‘I asked for your name!’ 

‘Maybe you don’t remember me, it’s been some time. It’s Cowley, George Cowley.’ 

_‘Morris_ Cowley? Don’t be ridiculous.’ But Major Howard must have felt some recognition of Cowley’s voice, because he asked, ‘Is this a haunting or a trick?’ 

Cowley laughed. ‘Neither. The reports of my death were slightly exaggerated.’ 

‘Ah.’ Major Howard stepped around the corner, and Bodie had to hide a smirk as the sight of Cowley’s old colleague reminded him of Doyle’s succinct description: _Even shorter than me, and bristling_ – _like a bloody toilet brush._ Bodie noted the man was of course just as short as when Doyle had made the remark, and the hair had receded further, though the moustache was even thicker. 

Cowley came down out of the shadows of the entrance. ‘More than a slight exaggeration,’ Howard said. He looked Bodie over quickly. ‘Still keeping the same bad company, Morris?’ 

‘In this case, yes.’ 

‘His face was on the news tonight. Wanted for something vague along the lines of assault and robbery.’ 

Cowley shot a look across at Bodie. ‘Have they been asking here? MI5? The police?’ 

‘Not yet.’ 

‘We need your help, Howard.’ 

‘Of course you do. Can’t be resting in peace one moment, and then back in the land of the living the next, without some help somewhere along the line.’ Howard looked up at his old colleague. ‘What on earth happened, Morris? You’ve been a damn long time dead.’ 

‘And it’s a damn long story,’ Cowley said, his tone friendly and even a little apologetic as he added, ‘but one we don’t have the time for.’ 

Howard seemed to realise he would have to be content with that for now. ‘Well,’ he said gruffly, ‘if anyone ever surprised me – and if anyone was going to cheat death, it would be you, I suppose, Morris. Should have suspected something was afoot when I saw this one on the news.’ He nodded. ‘Owe you my life a few times over, Morris. Owe your young lad here my life, too, if it comes to that. Come in.’ Howard grinned at them. ‘Anyone else, I’d offer them a cup of tea. But how about a nip of Scotch? To ward off the chill of the night air?’ 

Cowley laughed. ‘If you knew how long it’s been since I last had a nip of Scotch, Howard, you’d be amazed.’ 

♦

 _The things I do._ Murphy glanced at his watch – it was way past his bedtime. He yawned, one hand over his mouth, and cast a look around the deserted MI5 office. 

It must be time now to help dispose of the evidence. Suspicion of Murphy himself had been routine and easily deflected. Doyle had resigned from MI5 two days ago, with Mandy in tow, though Murphy only knew this through the office grapevine – he hadn’t seen or spoken to Doyle since all this started. The three days Bodie had told him to wait before doing this had gone, so Murphy assumed Bodie and Cowley were either safely holed up somewhere or had managed to leave the country already. And it was a quiet night, and no one expected Murphy to be readily available for once. And Drake was at home, catching up on his sleep. All in all, this was as ideal an opportunity as Murphy was likely to have. 

He left the anonymous office block, careful to avoid all but the security guard, and drove out of London into Surrey, taking the ‘scenic route’ to ensure he wasn’t being tailed. 

It was past three by the time Murphy pulled up in front of the garage he had rented in a false name. Inside, he found Bodie’s Capri Ghia sitting in lonely dusty splendour. The old van Doyle’s brother-in-law had bought, using false ID, and helped Doyle fill with supplies was gone, of course – so at least Murphy now knew that Bodie and Cowley had made it this far. 

Murphy parked his car in the garage and took Bodie’s Capri out, heading for a disused quarry ten miles away. The lake that had formed below a deep cutting had become an unofficial dumping ground for old cars and shopping trolleys and similar toys – one more rusting wreck would be suitably anonymous. And, Murphy thought with a mental sigh, would make small difference to the environmental disaster. 

While watching the car tumble over the edge of the cliff and crash into the lake, Murphy found a wry smile. If the stakes weren’t so high, it would almost be funny that Bodie was prepared to sacrifice even this. 

Once satisfied that the car was fully submerged, Murphy turned away. It would be a long, cold walk back to the garage. He dug his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. _The things I do._

♦

Carrying only two pieces of luggage, and prepared to abandon even those if necessary, Bodie led the way down a treacherously steep path to a tiny beach. ‘Watch yourself,’ he warned Cowley yet again. The loose stones underfoot, and the moonless overcast night, made him perhaps overly cautious. The stiff westerly wind at least helped push them back landward – an easterly would have toppled them over the edge. 

‘All right, three-seven,’ Cowley said irritably. Nevertheless, he deigned to use Bodie’s outstretched arm for balance on more than one occasion. Frustrated and impatient with himself, Cowley was beginning to wonder if he’d ever recover from the physical effects of his stay at Lubyanka. All the stamina seemed to have been knocked out of him, dizzy spells threatened whenever he attempted too much, his memory still played unwelcome tricks on him, and the pain of his damaged knee was worse than ever. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was too old now to ever properly heal. And yet this young man was losing so much, and risking the rest, to win Cowley a few more years of life. There was something futile about it all. 

Major Howard was waiting for them on the beach. ‘We’ll have to stop meeting like this, Morris, old chap,’ Howard complained once Bodie and Cowley were in earshot. ‘Gave up midnight rendezvous when I retired. Except with the ladies, of course.’ 

‘Never mind,’ Cowley said briskly. ‘We’ll be out of your hair one way or another tonight.’ 

‘They came asking for you today. About an hour before I set out to bring the boat around. It didn’t take much to get rid of them.’ 

Cowley’s expression drew sharper. ‘It wasn’t _too_ easy?’ 

‘No,’ Howard said slowly, considering it all yet again, though he’d been thinking of little else ever since. ‘Anyway, rather than bring the boat here straight away, I headed south for the day. I’m certain no one was following. I waited the last couple of hours a few miles from here, and no one took an interest.’ 

‘Too late to worry about it now, anyway,’ Bodie put in. ‘We have to meet the ship out there at two.’ 

‘Yes, this is our only chance,’ Cowley agreed. 

‘Told you they were getting close,’ Bodie muttered, turning away. Cowley had trusted the younger man’s instincts, and they had packed up their camp before dawn that day, parked the van in an old disused barn, and whiled away the hours in the dim dustiness. Which had played havoc with Bodie’s sinuses. But it now seemed that hadn’t been an over-reaction. ‘We gave ourselves too long up here.’ 

‘We had to allow for contingencies – there were too many variables.’ 

‘Yeah, and unfortunately everything’s gone according to plan.’ 

Howard laughed at Bodie’s sour tone. ‘Well, there’s no point in arguing tactics at this stage – you’re here now.’ 

‘Aye. We’d best get on. Bodie can row us out to the boat.’ 

‘Thank you, sir,’ Bodie said with that familiar touch of ironic gratitude. 

♦

It was two-thirty in the morning. Major Howard’s boat circled a certain spot seven miles out from the Scottish coast with its lights doused. The three occupants were worried. 

Howard continuously peered through the dark every which way, and steered the boat in such a precise course it had at first made Bodie wonder if he was following some obscure regulation from his days in the Forces _(When awaiting another vessel, circle the latitude/longitude with a radius of two hundred feet)._ There was no point in asking him whether they were in the right place, though Bodie soon did. Howard was slighted by his doubt. Bodie ended up pacing to and fro in the confined spaces, fuming. Neither he nor Doyle had ever been good at waiting, except when they had each other close at hand for distraction. 

Cowley sat quietly, looking around them. Finally he snapped, ‘Stay still, three-seven. You’re making me tired.’ 

Standing, Bodie leant against the little cabin, arms folded, expression mutinous. ‘Spoke too soon, didn’t I? Everything’s gone according to plan. Except the only bloody thing there’s no alternatives for.’ 

‘You trusted Martell to arrange this?’ Cowley asked. 

‘Yeah. He’s never let me down before.’ 

‘His priorities could hardly be the same as yours.’ 

‘There were reasons,’ Bodie ground out. ‘We owe each other from way back.’ 

‘I don’t think I want to know,’ Cowley said dryly. 

Bodie was silent, sullen. 

‘We can’t wait much longer, I’m afraid,’ Howard said. ‘There’s a storm further west, and I believe it’s blowing this way. An hour at most.’ There was indeed a massing of darker cloud on the horizon, and occasionally the flicker of lightning. ‘I hope you don’t get seasick, Mr Bodie.’ 

‘Gave that up soon enough at fourteen,’ Bodie said forbiddingly. 

When the swells grew, he rode the pitch and roll of the boat better than his companions. 

It was another half an hour before the running lights of a large ship appeared on the northern horizon. ‘Is that them?’ Howard wanted to know. 

‘If it is, they’ll signal us,’ Bodie said, impatient. He looked to the west, where the storm was gathering itself for a renewed onslaught. 

Major Howard turned the boat’s lights on again, and they waited for the ship to acknowledge them. At last, when the ship was still a mile away, a spotlight was aimed their way, and one word broadcast in Morse code: V-I-O-L-E-T. 

‘Hallelujah,’ Bodie muttered, and replied to the ship. I-N-D-I-G-O. Then it was simply a matter of more waiting. 

‘There’s another boat out there.’ Cowley broke the silence. 

Bodie took his eyes off their rescuer to see a slightly bigger boat than their own approaching from the south-east. ‘Coast guard?’ he guessed. 

‘They have no jurisdiction this far out,’ Howard said. 

‘We can do without their curiosity, though.’ Bodie looked around – the ship, the freighter that was to take them away from here, was closest. But the storm and the coast guard were not far behind. 

‘Perhaps they spotted us and are coming out to make sure you get back to shore all right,’ Cowley observed to Howard. 

‘It will be a rough trip,’ Howard allowed. 

‘I doubt you’ll get in much trouble on our behalf. They’ll want to keep it all quiet –’ 

‘What can they do to me?’ Howard cut Cowley off. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ 

The freighter was visibly slowing now, lowering a small motor-powered dinghy to the sea. The swells were so high that Bodie lost sight of the coast guard each time either of the boats sank into a trough. It began raining. Hard. 

Bodie wasn’t overly worried – it was almost a certainty now that they would get away – but he suddenly needed some kind of contact with Cowley. He walked over and placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder. Cowley was busy watching the freighter and the dinghy and the coast guard, judging speeds and distances, but he absently lifted a hand to cover Bodie’s. Howard was too busy keeping his boat steady in close proximity to the freighter to pay them any mind. Then, as the dinghy drew up to the boat, Cowley stood and pulled away from Bodie. The younger man gazed after him, serious. 

Cowley shook Howard’s hand, then he and Bodie were clambering into the dinghy, settling amidships between two silent men of black African descent. 

Howard’s boat drew away immediately, heading for home. The coast guard was only a few hundred feet away now – it slowed, watching. After a long moment, it turned to shepherd Howard. 

Then the dinghy reached the freighter, and was drawn up the side with the men still in it. The freighter was moving again already. Bodie read the name: _Durban Star._ He helped Cowley onto the deck. Bodie’s tight smile was his only sign of relief. 

♦

Murphy took the train, and walked the two blocks to Bat Out of Heaven. The new owner of the motorbike sales-and-repairs shop was out the front yard in the sunshine, covered in grease and ratty green overalls, parts of a Triumph motorcycle scattered around him. As he stood contemplating the bike’s frame propped up before him, he ran a grimy hand back through his hair – he’d obviously done this often, for the auburn curls were liberally streaked with black as well as grey. Murphy smiled and crossed the road to greet the man. 

‘You forgot Part 33AC,’ he called. 

Ray Doyle looked up at him and found a smile. ‘Hello, Murph.’ 

‘It fits into Part 23DB, you see. Can’t work the thing without it.’ 

‘What the hell would you know?’ 

‘Not much.’ 

‘That’s plain as day.’ 

Murphy wandered around the yard, poked his nose into the shop. The bikes displayed inside came in all shapes and sizes from the smoothest imported Harley to the dinkiest Yamaha dirtbike, but they all glowed with loving attention. ‘Nice,’ he said. 

‘Yeah.’ Though Doyle didn’t seem overcome with joy. 

Murphy sauntered back to his side. ‘You know, Doyle, you’re the only guy I know who’d resign, and not even tell his old mates, let alone chuck a wild farewell party to rub their noses in it.’ 

Doyle shrugged. ‘Didn’t seem appropriate, somehow.’ 

‘Pity you had to leave. Figured you were the sort to be fighting for truth and justice until your dying day.’ 

‘I might well do that,’ Doyle said distantly, kneeling by the bike to start work on it again. ‘But I don’t reckon MI5 are all that interested in truth and justice anymore.’ 

‘Ah.’ Murphy nodded. ‘I suppose rescuing your partner and boss from their clutches puts a new perspective on things.’ 

‘You could say that.’ But Doyle had always known there would come a time when the conflict between his morals and his career would reach critical mass. Maybe he’d lasted longer than otherwise because of Cowley – no matter how ruthless the old man was, Doyle had trusted him almost as implicitly as Bodie did. 

‘I figured there’s not many other ways to make a difference,’ Murphy offered. 

‘It’s your choice.’ Doyle looked up at the man. Murphy had blue blood in his veins – which in this case meant money and a title and privilege and an undeniable style. And, perhaps, had something to do with those gorgeous looks as well. Yet Murphy chose to live the difficult and dangerous life of an Intelligence operative – though the life and the alias suited him so well that even he sometimes seemed to have forgotten his origins. ‘You _do_ have other options, after all,’ Doyle reminded him, the socialist in him disparaging, the Brit in him impressed, and the rest of him jealous of those alternatives. 

Murphy wrinkled his nose. ‘I guess I haven’t quite lost my faith yet. Give it time.’ He waited through a silence, watching Doyle’s nimble fingers tinkering with the machine. ‘Is business good?’ Murphy asked. 

‘Yeah. It’s not always this quiet – we’re not actually open this afternoon. I’m just working on this old wreck in my spare time.’ 

Again, Murphy found the conversation ball lobbed firmly back to his side of the court. ‘And your sister and brother-in-law helped you with this place?’ 

‘Got quite a pay-out when I left – reaped the benefits of Cowley never letting us take any leave. But Keith and Mandy put in some money, and they both work here, too, when they can.’ 

‘That’s good. I’m glad things worked out.’ But Murphy wondered whether things really had worked out for the man. The Doyle of old had been just as acerbic and socially inept, but he had generally been… if not happy, at least fulfilled. One of the images of CI5 that persisted for Murphy was Bodie and Doyle, forever true to their motto _Never far apart,_ Bodie sharing an old joke with his partner and Doyle always ready to laugh, then the repartee flying too thick and fast for anyone else to follow. But neither Bodie nor Doyle had been the same since Cowley disappeared over two-and-a-half years ago. Even when Murphy had met the two of them to help arrange Bodie and Cowley’s escape, there had been something missing between them. ‘You owe me a story, remember? About what happened to Cowley.’ 

‘Guess I do,’ Doyle allowed. 

‘Did you hear from them? Your ex-partner and our ex-boss?’ 

Doyle squinted up at Murphy. ‘That why you’re here? Official business?’ 

‘No! Jesus, Doyle.’ 

‘Then why?’ 

‘Why do you think?’ Murphy rarely let himself get nettled, but he reflected that Doyle could get up anyone’s nose. After a long moment, during which he counted to ten in English and then again in Russian for good measure, Murphy met Doyle’s mistrustful gaze. ‘I asked because I’d like to know whether they made it or not,’ he said slowly and pointedly. ‘For my own personal peace of mind.’ 

‘Unlikely we’ll ever know.’ Doyle wasn’t telling anyone he’d insisted on a secret signal from Bodie, due in less than a week. One thing he hated was the suspense of waiting, and he didn’t even have Bodie anymore to tell him he was being an unreasonably impatient bastard. ‘And, frankly, I wouldn’t tell you if I did.’ 

‘You trusted me to help them!’ 

Doyle sighed, stood up and began to absently wipe his hands on a rag grimier than anything else in the yard. ‘Why did you come here, Murph?’ 

It was difficult to remember, facing this bitter, unhappy man. ‘I was thinking…’ _that I miss the old days,_ ‘that there aren’t many of us left from CI5. In fact, you’re the only one I know of.’ 

‘The others must be about somewhere.’ 

‘Maybe.’ _You don’t make it easy, do you, Doyle?_ ‘I guess Bodie turning up like that and then disappearing made me realise we’re running out of friends.’ 

‘Speak for yourself,’ Doyle retorted. 

‘And who do you have?’ Murphy bit right back. 

Doyle looked away. ‘Keith and Mandy and their kids, for a start.’ 

_But that’s all, isn’t it?_ ‘Look – I reckon that it’s pointless for you and me not to keep in touch.’ 

‘Won’t do your career much good. Drake won’t be impressed at you hanging around with me.’ 

‘Well,’ Murphy said patiently, ‘if he’s going to be that bloody-minded, maybe it will be time for me to resign, too. You can come help me raise a storm at my farewell party.’ 

At last Doyle said, ‘Yeah.’ He crouched by the bike again, and the silence stretched, though it was easier now, not quite as uncomfortable. 

Murphy stood a few feet away, watching the other man work. _I came because when Bodie and Cowley needed you, you proved you had loyalty, that friends mattered to you, that those morals and that conscience weren’t all hot air. Because I finally saw something of what kept Bodie so close to you over all those years as his partner._ ‘I guess I misjudged you, Doyle.’ 

‘Yeah. People do that all the time.’ He’d given up feeling frustrated by it years ago. 

‘I bet.’ _But, to my utter amazement, it seems that it might be worth the trials and tribulations of getting to know you._ ‘So.’ Murphy shrugged, smiling, and asked the obvious. ‘Do you want to come for a drink, Doyle?’ 

‘Let me get cleaned up.’ 

‘Could take a week… Should see yourself.’ 

Doyle laughed, surprising them both. ‘Can get respectable in ten minutes, I promise. Then, perhaps –’ 

‘What?’ 

‘– I’ll tell Mandy to set an extra place for dinner, shall I?’ 

‘Yeah.’ Murphy nodded. ‘Yeah, I’d like that.’ 

♦

‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ Cowley said. 

Bodie glanced up, startled. He was sitting wedged away in the prow of the ship, staring at the haze where the sky met the sea as if there was a chance to see where they were headed. He’d lost track of how long he’d been there. 

‘Why?’ Cowley asked, leaning back against a railing in the cramped space. _Silence._ ‘We’re not on the run anymore. I would have thought you’d be taking advantage of our safety.’ 

‘Not safe yet.’ 

‘True. But the pressure’s off, and we at least have some time to ourselves.’ 

‘Wouldn’t want to give them the right idea about us,’ Bodie said sarcastically. 

‘I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort,’ Cowley replied with surprising mildness. After a while, he continued, ‘What are your plans once we make shore?’ 

Bodie shrugged. 

‘Do you think you’ll be looking for work?’ 

‘Maybe.’ _Silence._ ‘Was enjoying being a nursing assistant.’ Then he added, with even heavier sarcasm, ‘Might find something in a hospital that’ll pay the rent.’ 

‘The old job’s still available. For a few months at least.’ 

‘I’m sure you can find someone.’ Bitter, Bodie let himself remember all the things he had enjoyed in looking after George Cowley, despite the circumstances. But Cowley really didn’t need that anymore. 

Cowley suddenly snapped, ‘I don’t know _why,_ Andrew, but you’ve loved me enough to get me this far. Tell me why you’re avoiding me now.’ 

Shrugging again, Bodie looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. It was unfair tactics for Cowley to use his lover’s name like that. _I never told the old bastard I loved him,_ Bodie thought sullenly. 

‘I can guess,’ Cowley continued, still angry but trying to be reasonable. _Some things deserve an effort._ ‘Neither of us thought we’d ever have any time to ourselves. And you’re not sure what you want.’ 

_Of course I know what I want._ Bodie glared at him. 

‘We can’t plan for this. We’ll have to work it out as we go along,’ Cowley tried. Impatient with the younger man – _That’s it, make me do all the hard work, when I haven’t said these sorts of things for decades_ – Cowley snapped again, ‘Are you thinking you couldn’t stand hanging around an old man all that time? Eight hours a day at Repton was enough? Bitten off more than you can chew, lad?’ 

‘Of course not!’ 

‘Well, don’t get sentimental on me, Bodie. And don’t go thinking I won’t get sick of you moping around the place.’ 

‘You bastard!’ Bodie scrambled to his feet. ‘Make up your damn mind what you’re offering me.’ 

‘Obvious, isn’t it?’ 

‘You want us to try living together? Just say it, then.’ 

‘Of course I want us to live together.’ Cowley out-stared the younger man. 

‘Until you get sick of me,’ Bodie mumbled, facing the horizon again, having inadvertently mislaid his anger somewhere. 

But Cowley, too, seemed drained. ‘Then you can find yourself some work in a few months. You’re not ready for retirement yet.’ 

‘As long as –’ _you’ll be there when I get home._

‘Aye, lad. But don’t expect your pipe and slippers waiting each night.’ 

Bodie looked up, a reluctant grin in response to the acerbic words. ‘All right,’ he allowed. ‘All right.’ 

♦

Murphy sat watching the auburn-haired enigma opposite him. Maybe it was the simple fact of Doyle’s long legs, slim hips, elusive but overwhelming sensuality. Or maybe it was Murphy’s own loneliness. Or a death-wish on his part. Or maybe Murphy wanted the crash course in knowing Ray Doyle. Whatever the reasons, Murphy had teetered on the edge of this for long enough. _Ex-CI5 agents rush in where the general populace is wise enough not to tread._

‘Ray. You and Bodie…’ 

‘What?’ 

It was mercifully dark in Mandy’s lounge room, with just one lamp softly glowing gold. Everyone else had gone to bed an hour or more ago. And Murphy really should be leaving, except he was bewitched by the possibilities… ‘You were lovers,’ he said. 

Doyle suddenly grinned. ‘No.’ 

Surprised and embarrassed, Murphy didn’t know what to say. He’d always assumed at the time that there could be no more likely reason for Bodie’s loyalty to this difficult man. 

‘What gave you that idea?’ 

‘Well…’ He really had no idea how best to explain now. Murphy rarely found himself at such a loss. 

‘Let me guess. You and Bodie…?’ Doyle suggested, grin still hovering. It didn’t occur to him now to be jealous that Bodie had seduced everyone _but_ Doyle. The friendship had, after all, been miracle enough. 

‘Yeah. A couple of times, early on. You knew he swung both ways?’ 

Doyle laughed. ‘You make him sound like a bloody monkey. Yeah, I figured that out – he never actually _told_ me.’ 

To Murphy’s surprise, the memories that came flooding back weren’t of the sex he’d shared with Bodie, which after all had never had the chance to develop into anything really spectacular. Instead, he remembered the easy friendship, the security of their shared secret. _I’ve been in that building so many times, I reckon the doorman thinks I fancy him,_ he recalled saying to Bodie, oh-so-casually in the middle of the tension of some op. And Bodie had known it was only half a joke, had accepted it with his usual cool amusement. Murphy said now, ‘It was good with him. But later, when I tried it on – I just assumed it was you monopolising his attention.’ 

‘No, you can’t blame me for that.’ Doyle considered his companion for a long moment. He was riding high tonight because he’d finally got the message, via an obscure and untraceable string of Bodie’s contacts ending in a phone call to a ‘wrong number’, that Bodie and Cowley were alive and well and truly out of harm’s way. He couldn’t resist sharing something with this man who had helped make all that happen. This man who seemed determined to be a friend. This gorgeous man who wouldn’t stop watching him. ‘I’m not allowed to tell you who,’ Doyle continued. ‘Security reasons. Was politically dangerous. Not that it matters, where they are now.’ 

Murphy stared, adding a few things up to a surprisingly obvious answer. ‘Oh good god…’ 

‘That’s what I said. Bodie only told me _that_ when we were planning the getaway.’ 

‘You mean all that time…? No wonder –’ 

‘No small wonder, the two of them.’ Laughing, Doyle said, ‘It’s nice to be able to shock you, Murph, just every now and then.’ 

‘You’re a devil, Ray Doyle.’ 

‘Yeah…’ 

‘So…’ Murphy had thought it would be easy, if only Bodie had paved the way for him. As it was now, who the hell knew whether Murphy was inviting a black eye. ‘What about you?’ he asked at last. 

Doyle looked at him, suddenly sober. ‘You mean do I…’ 

‘…swing both ways. Yeah.’ 

‘In theory, but not so far in practice,’ Doyle answered. 

‘Ah.’ Murphy gazed somewhere else entirely, wondering if that was a refusal, or if Doyle even realised that he was asking. 

‘Want me to practise on you, Murph?’ 

‘Yeah,’ he said, meeting the quizzical green eyes. ‘Friends, Ray,’ Murphy offered. 

‘Lovers,’ Doyle countered. And he stood, walked over to the other man, leant down and kissed him. Murphy was so flummoxed by this determination and poise, he surrendered without a sound. 

♦

‘Mum! Uncle Murph is sleeping in Uncle Ray’s bed with him!’ 

‘Oh.’ Mandy went blank, and said the first reassuring thing that came to her lips: ‘That’s nice, dear.’ 

‘Can we go play outside now?’ 

‘Sure, love.’ And then she thought to call after them, ‘Breakfast in half an hour!’ 

When Mandy turned around, her big brother was standing there looking exactly as if he’d been asleep less than a minute before, leapt out of bed and into the nearest jeans in a hurry even though they belonged to someone built larger than him, and then tripped down the stairs. ‘I’m sorry –’ he started. 

‘It’s all right. It doesn’t mean a thing to them. Not yet, anyway.’ 

‘And you?’ 

Mandy looked up as Murphy silently appeared to stand behind Ray. ‘You’re not going to try and tell me,’ Mandy said severely, ‘that you drank too much and couldn’t drive home? Or some other convenient little story?’ 

‘No,’ Murphy said. And he reached an arm around Doyle’s waist, pulled the smaller man back against him. 

‘Good,’ Mandy said, sounding supremely satisfied and looking very happy. ‘Pancakes for breakfast?’ she offered. She turned away, reaching for the pan hanging above the stove. ‘I suppose this means you won’t be fighting me for Keith anymore, Ray,’ she innocently remarked. 

Doyle guffawed, and headed over to tickle her ferociously. Murphy shook his head, smiling, and made the coffee. Life with the Doyles was going to be… interesting. 

♦

Cowley hadn’t ever looked forward to retirement – unlike so many of his colleagues he didn’t work solely in order to spend his autumn years in lazy affluence. He hadn’t even tried to picture himself with nothing to plan each day other than a game of golf and where to lunch before closing time. Maybe if he’d had family of his own, and had managed to keep their love over the years, his expectations would have been different. 

No, he’d never looked forward to retirement, never even counted on living that long – but he was now enjoying himself in a quiet way despite all that. 

Bodie had brought them to an obscure Brazilian city, had set them up within days in a house isolated by jungle, its thick, white stone walls providing cool and peaceful protection. Cowley had his suspicions about how Bodie had earned the money that had been sitting so conveniently in a Swiss bank account, but decided it prudent not to ask – the man had, after all, redeemed himself ten times over since his early years. And what he’d done since CI5 folded was perhaps necessary during his search for his lover. 

The balcony of their house overlooked a small beach and the headlands to either side, and was open on three sides, with screens that didn’t hinder the breezes and stopped all but the most persistent wildlife. It was an ideal place to spend the morning hours. Cowley was there now, deep in one of Turgenev’s novels, with his feet up – relaxing had been a new skill to learn, while at last catching up with all the books he’d never had time to read, all the music he hadn’t listened to. And enjoying the return of a little health and a lot of well-being. 

‘I made lunch,’ Bodie announced, stepping out of the house, tray in hand. ‘A sandwich for you…’ 

‘And three sandwiches for you, I suppose,’ Cowley said dryly. To the amusement of both, Cowley saw he was right. 

‘I’m a growing lad.’ 

‘So you keep warning me.’ 

‘Well, Pops, if you can’t keep up with my exercise regime, I guess I’d better rethink either the food or the training partner. And I can’t see me giving up the food…’ 

Bodie sat there looking at him, just waiting for the come-back, expression happy with that odd mixture of innocence and devilment that Cowley had only ever seen on this particular face. Before all this, they’d rarely had the luxury of enough faith in their relationship to tease – they had each been too vulnerable to the world, they’d each had too many conflicting priorities and, while Bodie had inevitably been incredibly insubordinate, they had never forgotten that Cowley was Bodie’s boss. 

‘You’re incorrigible,’ Cowley informed the younger man now. ‘And I sincerely miss the days when you treated me with the respect I deserve.’ 

‘Oh, I never did that,’ Bodie murmured, his smile, his bluest eyes focussed only on Cowley. 

‘No, I don’t suppose you ever did,’ Cowley agreed mildly. 

‘So, what do you reckon? Want to work some calories off me before I eat these sandwiches?’ 

‘And how do you propose I do that?’ 

‘Come upstairs and I’ll show you.’ 

Cowley sighed as if this was a great imposition, but he stood. ‘You’d better bring lunch with you – you might need the energy.’ 

‘Promises, promises!’ Bodie picked up the tray again, almost losing the pitcher of juice in his haste, but then waited for Cowley to lead the way inside. 

Cowley collected his book first – afternoons like this had already fallen into a pleasant pattern. They would love each other for a long delightful while, and have lunch, then Bodie would fall asleep curled up as close to the older man as he could manage _(Any excuse for a siesta, lad)_ and Cowley would read in the warm embrace until it was time to take his lover out for dinner. Maybe all this self-indulgence would wear thin at some stage, maybe Bodie would get restless. But not for a while yet, not for a good long while. They both deserved this. 

No, Cowley had never planned or counted on a retirement, let alone one so enjoyable. He smiled at Bodie, and headed for their bedroom. 

♦

 _And they all lived happily ever after…_  
(So there!)  
The End.

♦


End file.
